


Here's to the Fallen

by Modest_K



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Battle of Hogwarts, Discord: Harry Potter Fanfic Club, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Fanfic Club Winter Challenge II, Hogwarts, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, hogwarts staff - Freeform, oof, toasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29200683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modest_K/pseuds/Modest_K
Summary: The staff of Hogwarts toast those who gave their lives in the Battle of Hogwarts.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 20





	Here's to the Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> A lil thing I wrote for the Harry Potter Fanfiction Club server's Winter Challenge II!

They gathered on the grounds late in the evening. The air was especially brisk for May, though the cold could probably have been attributed to the lingering aura of death that clouded the castle, both inside and out. 

Still, it was better that they met outside, behind the hut. The corridors of Hogwarts were littered with fallen rubble and debris, which— coupled with the harrowing silence that raged within the walls— made for a less than adequate place to convene. 

A similar, solemn hush seemed to have fallen over the rest of the grounds. The nearest animals had apparently cleared the vicinity, and one couldn’t hear so much as the rustling of grass. Wildlife and weather alike had seemingly forsaken the region in wake of the battle— or, perhaps, they were simply offering a moment of silence, to accompany the assembled grievers in honouring those who had been lost. 

Hagrid had gathered the firewood himself a couple of hours prior to their meeting. He’d wanted an excuse to use his hands, he’s said, to keep himself busy, though no one had pushed for his reasons. They’d understood the need to stay occupied, to fixate themselves on a task so as to force the image of bodies piled atop one another out of their minds. 

Slughorn arrived first, greeting Hagrid with a sad smile and a friendly nod. Madam Pince arrived shortly after with Trelawney, Filch in tow behind them.

Flitwick and Sprout showed up next, joining the group quietly. The gravity of their expressions only further emphasized the cold bite in the air, and the others each found themselves more grateful to Hagrid for such a large fire. 

“I think we’re missing a couple, aren’t we?” Pince asked, eyebrows drawn together. 

“Poppy’s still tending to the wounded,” Slughorn supplied. 

“And Minerva?”

That one left him at a loss. He turned to Flitwick and Sprout as some sort of uneasy, unspoken exchange crossed between them. Flitwick replied, albeit uncomfortably, “Minerva won’t be joining us this evening. She’s— erm—”

“She’s more of a lone griever, that one,” Sprout finished for him. “We tried to get her to come down with us, but… well, you know how she is.” 

They  _ did  _ know how she was. 

A beat of tense silence passed, a battle of sorts to avoid having to be the one to initiate what they’d come down to do. 

It was Hagrid who conceded defeat. “Well,” he sighed. “Migh’ as well get ter i’ then.”

Flitwick relented as well. “Yes. We know why we’re here.” He regarded the circle his colleagues had formed around the fire with the same melancholy that reflected right back his way. “Today, as we speak, there are celebrations being had all around the world in light of Y— of Voldemort’s defeat.” A few of them stiffened. “But we’re gathered here tonight to honour those who gave their lives to warrant such celebrations.”

Hagrid was the first of the evening to wipe away a tear, but he wouldn’t be the last. 

“Each and every one of those who died fighting the Death Eaters today will forever be regarded as a hero,” Flitwick asserted. He’d never been less meek, and the pride of a couple of his fellow professors was evident in their slight smiles and their nods of agreement. “Not just to us,” he went on, “but to the entirety of the Wizarding World.” After a brief pause, he turned slightly. “Horace?”

Slughorn lifted the basket he’d let hang off his arm. “I’ve brought it.”

“It,” of course, referred to enough mead to supply a small army **.** Or, in cases such as this, enough for seven people to toast approximately fifty of their fallen friends, students, and allies. 

Their glasses distributed and filled a moment later, the group was once again quiet. 

“We lost a lot of students today. Aurors and Order members as well,” Slughorn sighed. 

“Too many,” Pince whispered. 

“Where do we even begin?” Sprout asked, looking around almost hopefully. 

“I can start,” Slughorn said gravely. “A lot of Aurors lost today were students of mine during the  _ first  _ war against the Death Eaters—”

And so the toasts began. 

At first, they seemed to move in almost a blur, having to go through dozens of names.

“Lavender Brown was one of the few students who showed a genuine talent for my class,” Trelawney whispered at one point. “She was brighter than anyone knew.”

“To Lavender Brown.”

“I never though’ I’d miss seeing Collin buttin’ in with that bloody camera of his,” Hagrid shook his head. “Brave little bugger.”

“To Colin Creevey.” 

Name after name, they shared stories and admirations and raised their glasses. Over fifty there were to honour, to bid farewell. 

For some, they could have spent an entire evening on. 

“I remember Tonks from her Hogwarts days,” Pomona Sprout announced, taking the reins on this next one. “She was everything a Hufflepuff ought to be,” she smiled sadly, her eyes watering, though it could have been from the smoke. “She might have had a little flair for trouble, but she was a hard worker, and unwaveringly loyal. She accepted  _ everyone. _ ”

“Her son will get to hear the most lovely stories about her,” Pince agreed. 

“She was a bright young witch,” Trelawney sniffed. 

“An absolute  _ laugh,  _ too.”

“A righ’ joker, tha’s fer sure.”

“To Nymphadora Tonks!” toasted Sprout. 

And the rest of the group repeated it loudly enough to shake the earth. 

Of course, there was only one name that could possibly follow Tonks. And yet again, nobody present wanted to be the one to address it first.

Flitwick drew in a long breath. “Remus Lupin was… well, he was one of  _ us. _ ”

“Best Defense professor Hogwarts has seen in a long time,” Sprout nodded wholeheartedly. 

“An’ a good friend,” Hagrid managed. “Great man, he was.”

“He was always so respectful,” Pince sighed. “And in the midst of so much  _ suffering _ .”

“He was truly kind,” Trelawney concurred. “One of the few who’d heed my warnings about matters of the inner eye.” No one would bother to tell her Lupin had only ever been humoring the witch. There wasn’t a reason to, not today. 

“He was brilliant even back as a student of mine,” Slughorn recalled fondly.

“He was troublesome, too,” Flitwick added with the first hint of humour he’d managed all evening. “Though you wouldn’t really  _ know it _ off the bat.”

Hagrid swallowed hard before he raised his glass. “Ter Remus Lupin— the last o’ the Marauders.”

“To Remus Lupin!”

As always, the pause between names was troublingly uncomfortable, though thankfully brief. Before anyone could begin the next toast— and realistically,  _ no one  _ wanted to— the others were spared the task. 

“Argus?”

All eyes turned to the caretaker, who’d shuffled forward just a few steps. His eyes remained trained on the fire, the flames dancing across the dark of his eyes. Persistently ignoring their stares, Filch reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object with a trembling hand. 

He turned the little telescope over a few times, almost absentmindedly. “Stupid little thing,” he muttered. “Black eye lasted a bloody week because of this thing.” His fist clenched around it tightly as his scowl deepened. He glared at it for a little while longer, the imprint of a  _ W  _ catching the light of the flames. “I’d just confiscated it from—” 

Filch swallowed, returning instead to silently fidgeting with the telescope until finally, he relented and tossed it into the fire. 

Sparks snapped as the flames ate it up. 

Flitwick was the first to lift his glass. “To Fred Weasley.”

“To Fred Weasley.”

And then only one name remained. 

Curiously, no one had actually planned any sort of order to these. There wasn’t some conscious effort to push him to the end. In fact, many of them would rather have gotten this one out of the way sooner, back before all the alcohol had clouded their brains. 

Perhaps it was better this way. Most of those present could scarcely stand up straight at this point, and there was less thought going into their diction as the haze of mead and sorrow fell over them like mist. 

Thoughts, this far into the toasts, were mostly unwelcome. Thoughts at this stage of the evening carried images no one wanted to see and sounds no one wanted to hear. Bodies, so many bodies. 

Despite the lack of a plan, there seemed to have been some sort of unspoken consensus to leave him for the end. And now, here they were, standing at the edge of this dark pool, into which they all dreaded diving. 

Someone was going to have to make the plunge.

After this evening, no one would ever think of Filius Flitwick as meek, or timid, or anything of the sort again. At least no one from this present group. 

Because once again, when everyone else refused to speak, he stepped forward ever so slightly and cleared his throat. 

“Severus Snape.” 

And so they plunged, deep into the depths of what was far too dark to be water. It could have been blood. So into the blood, they jumped, and together the group sank as they prepared to voice their goodbyes to their long-time colleague. 

There was a lot they could say about Severus Snape, but it seemed everyone was struggling to find the right words. What they  _ could  _ muster were little more than concise praises.

“A brave wizard.”

“Dumbledore’s man, through and through.”

“A brilliant potions master.”

“A loyal member of the Order.”

It was Sprout who hesitated. “He…” she smiled slightly then, her cheeks damp with tears. “He was a bit of a prick, to be honest.” The others smiled at that too, a bit ruefully, and a couple even chuckled. It was a miracle of sorts. “But Holy Helga am I going to miss having him around.”

Hagrid let out a choked sob, and Flitwick reached to pat him on the arm consolingly before raising his glass. “To Severus Snape.”

“To Severus Snape.”

And so they bid that final farewell. They finished their glasses, wiped at their tears, and remained by the fire for just a little longer. 

No one was particularly keen on being alone just yet.

Still, like all things, and all  _ life _ , the evening had to end. They left the gathering in small groups: Flitwick, Sprout and Trelawney headed up first; they wanted to check on McGonagall. Filch silently followed Pince back to the castle, not having said a word since he’d brought out that telescope. Slughorn actually remained down by the fire— he didn’t feel good about leaving Hagrid alone.

He drew his wand and extinguished the flames, before joining Hagrid inside the hut for some tea.

All that remained were some charred branches of firewood and a pile of ash. Flames extinguished but wood still rather hot, a few stubborn sparks continued to pop, as if the fire was making its final effort to cling to life for just a little longer.

Eventually, the last sparks lingering on the logs ceased their cracking, and Hogwarts fell back into a deep, needed, peaceful, drawn out moment of silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Oof ok this kinda sad I'm sorry hahaha I swear I usually write FUNNY stuff idk what's happening to me XD Anyway, hope you enjoyed, lemme know!


End file.
